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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24577102">A Fisherman's Grief</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/blehbleh456/pseuds/blehbleh456'>blehbleh456</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Pirates of the Caribbean (Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, War of the Spanish Succession</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-06</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-06-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 04:47:26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>855</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24577102</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/blehbleh456/pseuds/blehbleh456</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Prior, during, and after the War of the Spanish Succession, Spain's nobility has become entangled hopelessly into the Hapsburg-Bourbon loyalties. In a new game of politics, Alejandro Santos, a fervid supporter of the Bourbon regime, runs afoul of their new allies - the Mendozas. Irene Mendoza: beautiful, rich, and a bargaining chip for the Hapsburg supporters. Her only mission in life is to be the pious wife of Rodrigo Santos. But as a new dawn rises over Spain, her path is not so clear anymore. For now, her fragile deal with Alejandro is the only guarantee of survival. Together, they will be forced to question the age-old hierarchy in a game of wit, strategy, and deceit with themselves as pawns.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Officer Santos/Original Female Characters</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A Fisherman's Grief</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was fortunate that Leonor was a dear friend of Irène; otherwise, she might have found herself doomed to the frugal life of a scullery maid with the amount of vigor she was putting into the stays. Irène gasped for air when a particularly hard tug increased the pressure of the whalebones. She deflated in relief when she felt the maid released the ribbons, only to groan when she felt the suffocating contraption squeeze her ribs again.<br/>
“Gilipollas! Are you trying to bind me and sell me into slavery to the Americas? Wench, tighten the stays like you are wont to do!” Irène whined, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the edge of the vanity.<br/>
“I might say that a wild boar would be more docile than you, Señorita. Have you forgotten about your esteemed guests? We want you to look appealing - not like some campesina who just had a row with pigs.” Was the crisp reply as Leonor (purposely, Irène sulked) tightened the stays even harder than before.<br/>
“Careful, now. I am the soon-to-be Contessa Santos y Mendoza, and you shall not want to incur my wrath.” Irène wagged a tanned finger as she was fitted into a champagne-colored thing with an inordinate amount of frills and lace on the bodice alone.<br/>
“Good! I want to be rid of this house and all its troubles.” Leonor countered, a slight lift of her lip indicating she was only jesting. While her old friend fussed over the stubborn curls that escaped the coiffure, she eyed the jeweled monstrosity that was to adorn her hair. It was rather pretty, she admitted reluctantly. The fine, white crystals caught the dim candlelight like a shattered sunset; gold inlaid and a delicate flower molding only further emulated the brash warmth of the jewels. Her fingers danced to touch it as it glistened like a strange insect on the plain sandalwood. Well, as it had been passed down since her great-grandmother’s time, it had to have some familial value to be worthy of constantly craning her neck throughout the entirety of a dinner party. She hissed when Leonor unknowingly jabbed her scalp with the pin.<br/>
“Joder! You miserable wench! First I am a wild boar, now I am a pin cushion! Next time, at least make me a bird so I can flee from this engagement nonsense!” She hissed, her scalp stinging with the hairpiece’s assault.<br/>
“Lo siento, Señorita. I was a fool and vile wretch. I shan’t do it again.” Her maid placated her soothingly, this time with a genuine ring in her words. Leonor’s deft fingers flew to adjust the cause of such grief for the evening’s toiletries, then finally stepped back with a proud air.<br/>
“There. Oh, Señorita, if Señor Santos does not instantly proclaim words of the most ardent affection, you would have a better chance of seducing a horse.”<br/>
As she peered into the glass, right as Leonor laid a string of pearls around her neck, she thought she looked like a slab of meat with extraordinarily shiny hair. That was her one saving grace, she mused as she fingered the string of pearls. With that tête-de-mouton, she might have a chance at seducing the heir of the noble, gracious, and obscenely wealthy House Santos. That idyllic fancy was shattered as Leonor slapped her wandering hand from tugging on the loose hanging curls in the back that was so in fashion nowadays. But if she had to endure all that, and escape not entirely unscathed with a sore chest and a nip to her head, she supposed that she at least looked elegant. </p>
<p> </p>
<p>        “Irène Sofía! You are going to starve our guests with your vanity! Make haste and let us be off!” A muffled voice resounded through the oak doors. Ana Soledad Isabel, that unnervingly prim and proper sister of hers, could always be relied upon for her harpy screech. The two Mendoza sisters were as different as a rose and a thorn; one being admired for her beauty and grace, the other being feared for her cutting tongue.<br/>
“Ah, dear sister, could you not entertain our handsome guests with your feminine guiles while they are waiting?” Irène drawled, dabbing a spirt of the recently-purchased nutmeg and vanilla scent on each wrist. The much sought-after perfume was all the rage in Málaga, with the composition coming in silver bottles among the upper class and a watery concoction in glass jars among the poor. Ana’s had a floral pattern stamped onto hers, but Irène had the Mendoza sigil engraved to symbolize her new status.<br/>
Contessa Mendoza. What a grand title for a señorita like me. Ana would have fit right into being the Lady of the House. Alas, we cannot choose our birth order. Nor our sex. She thought, gazing longingly at the library of maps and the “decorative” rapier hanging over the mantlepiece. The portrait of the late Contessa Mendoza brought Irène out of her sea-faring escapades in the Caribbean. If nothing else, she could not break her promise to mamá. Sighing, she exited to face a disgruntled Ana, and plunge into the lion’s den.</p>
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